


If I give you my secret, will you keep it?

by myrish_lace



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASOIAF Rare Pair Week, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crushes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Shyness, Slavery, Tattoo Removal, Tattoos, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrish_lace/pseuds/myrish_lace
Summary: Jon Snow, a tattoo artist, meets a beautiful woman with a brutal mark on her skin. Will she trust him enough to help her close one ugly chapter in her life and open a happier one?





	If I give you my secret, will you keep it?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).



> This is a late entry for asoaifrarepairs week! Jon and Missandei is my favorite crackship. Enjoy!

Jon pushed the tattoo parlor door open. The Crimson Dragon was a small shop in the corner of a busy street. Testimonials from customers proudly showing their ink hung in the window. The bell jingled as Jon stepped inside, rubbing his hands together from the cold.

Tormund cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re late, Snow.”

Jon glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten in the morning exactly. “Sod off, I’m on time, not my fault you show up early.”

Tormund gestured to the floor. “I like a clean shop, Snow. Didn’t stay in business for twenty years by letting the place collect dust.”

Tormund looked intimidating, with ink running up both arms, but he was a stickler for sparkling work surfaces. Not every tattoo parlor could say the same.

“Well, don’t stand about, get over to your table. We’ve got a client coming in fifteen minutes. She called ahead to see if we were free. Says she’s been shopping around.” Tormund seemed mildly impressed. It was a good sign – spur of the moment tattoo decisions often ended badly.

“She sounded pretty,” Pyp mumbled as he wiped down the counter.

Gilly stopped working in her sketchbook long enough to roll her eyes. “What does that even mean Pyp?”

“I – she – just wait till she comes in.”

Tormund grinned. “Five bucks says you’re wrong.”

Jon’s headache was already fading. He’d indulged in too many beers last night, drinking his way through the one year anniversary of his break up with Ygritte. But as he cleaned off his workstation, surrounded by his friends from the army, the tension left his shoulders.

Jon was lucky Tormund had taken him when his two tours in Afghanistan were up. Tormund had been surprised when Jon asked for a chair at the shop. He’d teased him about being the heir to the Targaryen fortune. But Jon had had enough of his father’s irresponsible demands on him and his family members. He was happiest here, in a quiet corner, concentrating on one design at a time.

The bell chimed again. A small, slight woman slipped through the door. “Am I too early?”

“Never too early to see a customer at the Crimson Dragon,” Tormund said. “Why don’t you head over to Jon there, he can get you started.” Jon didn’t notice Pyp’s smirk as Tormund handed him five dollars.

“I’m Missandei. Thank you for seeing me.” She took off her coat and unwrapped a yellow scarf from around her neck, revealing a head full of springy, dark curls.

“No trouble, it’s what I’m here for.” _She’s not pretty, she’s beautiful, lovely, gorgeous._

Missandei tucked a curl behind her ear. “Do you have a...more private room?”

“Sure,” Jon said, “mind if Gilly comes with us?”

Missandei looked relived. “Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you.” He couldn’t quite place her accent. Jon beckoned for Gilly to join them. They made their way to the studio in the back. Missandei stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face them. 

“I want to get a tattoo removed,” she said.

Jon ran a hand through his hair. “I have to tell you, a clinic would probably be better for tattoo removal. We have the right machines here, but–“

“No,” she said quickly. “I’ve been to each of them and the way they look at me – I’m not going back."

Jon smiled faintly, at a loss for why a clinic would turn down business. He tried to put Missandei at ease. “So, boyfriend’s name? Girlfriend?”

Missandei started to tremble, and suddenly Jon was scared for her.

“Hey, hey, it’s none of my business. No more questions, I promise.”

She squared her shoulders and met his eyes. He could drown in their soft brown depths. “It’s under my hair, on my – on my neck,” she finished.

Jon went cold all over.  Tormund had talked about them, and Gilly had removed a few. A Lysene mark. Slavery.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have – I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands.

But Missandei only smiled. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “Can you do it? Remove it, I mean?”

“I can, or you could have Gilly do it, if you’re more comfortable. It will take a few sessions to remove the tattoo completely.”

Missandei thought for a moment. “I’d like for you to do it, and for Gilly to stay.”

“That’s fine.” She got into the chair, and Gilly helped her position her head. Gilly took Missandei’s hand, and they exchanged a few words in Spanish before Missandei put her face down in the pillow.

Jon took a deep breath. “I’m going to lift up your hair, okay?”

“Yes.”

Gilly handed Jon hair pins. His sister Sansa liked to joke that he had a secret desire to be a hairdresser. He touched Missandei’s curls gently and pinned her hair back. He gritted his teeth when he saw the mark. An ugly, black teardrop, like a brand.

He hated whoever had done this to her, marked her skin without her consent. They’d assaulted her and held her down and tried to turn her into a thing, not a person.

“Did it hurt?” The words were out before he could stop himself. His voice cracked.

“Yes,” Missandei said, “but not the way you think.”

Jon thanked the gods that his hands were steady as he got to work. “You know,” he said lightly, because she deserved a reassuring voice for this, “we offer replacement tattoos free of charge. Just something to think about.”

Gilly stared at him, because it was a bald-faced lie. Jon could pay for her new tattoo out of his own money though.

After half an hour, Missandei sat up slowly as Jon put away the equipment. Gilly brought her some water and a few cookies. Missandei looked puzzled as Gilly pressed the cookie into her hand.

“Low blood sugar,” Jon said, washing his hands at the sink. “It can be a side effect of the procedure. Better safe than sorry.”

Missandei took a dainty bite. Jon came back and stood awkwardly next to the chair. “How are you feeling?”

Missandei blinked rapidly and swayed in her seat. Gilly put a hand on Missandei’s shoulder, and Jon shot her a grateful look. “Easy, easy, there’s no rush.”

Missandei sipped her water, and color came back into her cheeks. “I’m fine, thanks to both of you. Should I schedule my next session in the front?”

Jon nodded. “Just talk to Tormund. Big man with–“

“The red beard, yes, I noticed him when he came in. He’s hard to miss.” She smiled again, and her beauty took his breath away.

Gilly walked Missandei to the counter. Jon stayed in the studio for a few minutes, trying to calm his heart, wondering why he was already desperate to see Missandei again. He wouldn’t tell her that, though. He wanted her to book her next appointments with whichever employee made her the most comfortable.

When he came back up to the front of the store, he checked out the appointment book. He expected to see Missandei’s name in Gilly’s column. Instead, she’d booked four more appointments with him. She’d left a note that she’d like to have Gilly present, too.

“Stop grinning like an idiot, Snow.” Tormund shut the book. “Get back over to your station.” Jon hesitated. He wanted to talk to Tormund about Missandei, about how furious he was that people could be so cruel. But he wouldn’t betray Missandei’s trust. He nodded and walked away from the counter.

“Jon, wait.” Tormund waived him over. “Look, I ain’t saying what did or didn’t happen back there, or what kind of work that young woman’s having done, because it’s not my place to know. But she wanted me to tell you how grateful she was, that you were willing to do the work.”

“Anyone should be willing,” Jon said angrily, “it’s not something worth thanking me for.”

Tormund sighed. “I’m trying to tell you that you did well, Snow. Some tattoos show us the worst of what people are willing to do. You’re showing her something else. I’m proud of you.”

Jon closed his mouth after a minute. Tormund rarely made this kind of speech.

“Now go on, go home,” Tormund said gruffly. “Pyp and Gilly and I will close up. We’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late again.” He winked.

Jon felt some of the tension leave his body. He’d been wound up ever since Missandei told her story.

“Thanks Tormund. See you tomorrow.” He fell asleep dreaming of strength and courage and soft, brown eyes.

***

By the third session, Missandei didn’t ask for Gilly anymore. By the fourth, Jon learned about how recently she’d moved to Chicago. The cold had taken her by surprise, but she’d managed to get a few plants to grow in her apartment that reminded her of Madrid.

Jon wrapped up their last session full of regret. He’d miss seeing Missandei every other week. But the tattoo was gone now, and he had no reason to ask her to stay. She hadn’t mentioned wanting any more ink. Jon waived to her as she left, and tried to memorize her soft voice and the way her eyes crinkled at the corners.

Tormund caught him after Missandei left. “You decided on a wedding date yet?”

“Shove off Tormund. She’s just...polite.”

Tormund grunted. “Her eyes light up every time she sees you, and what eyes they are. She likes you, you bleeding idiot. And given how you look at her like she hung the moon, you like her too.”

 _Maybe I do_. “Her tattoo’s gone, and she didn’t ask for more work.” Jon had secretly hoped she’d take him up on his offer. “So you and Pyp and Gilly can stop gossiping about me. She’s not coming back.” He hadn’t meant to sound so sad.

Tormund made a noncommittal noise. “Well, time will tell, Snow. Now get ready, we’ve got a bachelorette party coming in. Matching tattoos with the bride.”

Jon, Gilly and Pyp groaned in unison. Jon threw himself into the work, though, when the girls arrived. Best to get lost again in his art, and forget about the beautiful woman who’d walked out the door.

Business picked up as the weeks went by and winter turned into spring. Jon still looked up hopefully each time the door chimed, but his hope was fading. _Maybe she never wants to see the inside of a tattoo parlor again, and who could blame her?_

He was giving Gilly feedback on her sketches during a break on a warm spring day when the doorbell chimed again. Gilly nudged him. “Jon, you’re going to want to see this.”

He glanced over at the door and nearly dropped the book. Missandei stepped into the shop in a pair of jeans and a black tank top. Her hair was down around her shoulders. She smiled when she saw Jon, a smile that lit up her whole face.

_Beautiful. Lovely. Gorgeous._

Gilly nudged him again. “Don’t just stand there, you oaf, go talk to her.”

Jon’s feet were glued to the floor. Missandei walked over to him and Gilly.

“Hello, stranger,” Gilly said. She hugged Missandei, then stepped back and looked at Jon expectantly. He’d spent so many days hoping to see her and now that he was face to face with her, he didn’t know what to say.

Missandei cleared her throat. “Jon, I wanted to ask you about a design,” she said, “and before you try I know replacement tattoos aren’t free. I can pay my own way.” He hadn’t thought about how that offer might come across, to someone with her history. “I know you meant well,” she said gently. “I do, Jon. Can I– “ She glanced at the crowded counter and shrank when a boisterous group of frat boys stumbled into the parlor.

Jon looked over her shoulder. “Over in the back, it’s a little quieter?”

“Thank you Jon.”

Jon led her back to the private studio. Missandei perched on the table.

“Do you do lettering? Black script?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “Black tattoos tend to last longer anyway. What would you like?”

 “I’m a translator,” she said, touching her throat. Jon could see it in the quick and graceful way she moved her hands. He remembered how she’d shifted easily between English and Spanish with Gilly. “I want a tattoo on my upper arm, something I can cover up if I like, but also something I can show out in the open.”

He tried his best to make sure people loved the ink they got, that it told a story they wanted to tell. The story her old tattoo told had been forced on her.

Now she’s trying to tell a new one, he thought. Best start helping her with it. But he was still curious. “Why me?”

“Your eyes,” she said, “when I told you about the mark.  You looked – angry, but not at me? No disgust or pity. I’ve had enough pity for a lifetime.”

Warmth flooded his chest. He was pretty sure he was blushing. “What text do you want?”

“Just a single word,” she said. “Chiaroscuro.”

“You’re definitely going to have to write that down for me.”

She laughed, and the sound washed over him like ocean waves. He was well and truly gone.

“It means lightness and dark, brightness and shadow, two things at once. It’s how I feel, when I translate, like I have a foot in both worlds, when I’m really getting it right.” She picked at the hem of her shirt. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Jon’s throat was dry. “Thank you for telling me.”

She placed her hand over his and his heart raced.

They weren’t supposed to date customers. Jon didn’t mix his work and his personal life. None of that mattered when she pressed her soft lips to his. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and buried his other hand in her dark curls and kissed her, kissed her, kissed her.

“I thought I might have to keep it,” she whispered when they broke apart. “The mark. If I couldn’t find the right person. And the first time I met you I saw someone who wouldn’t judge me for what I had, and who might like what I wanted to become.”

Jon laced his fingers with hers. “Thank you for trusting me. I wish I could tell you how much that means to me. I’ll never be as articulate as you are.”

“Your eyes tell a story, Jon, a sweet one, and I can read it.”

***

Years later, at their wedding, Tormund, Pyp and Gilly toasted them as they started their first dance. Missandei wore a sleeveless yellow dress, and laughed as Jon spun her around the dance floor.

“Chiaroscuro,” Pyp mused. “That’s what her tattoo says. What does it mean?”

Tormund refilled Pyp’s champagne glass. “Haven’t the faintest idea. They look happy though, don’t they?”

Pyp turned to Gilly. “C’mon, Gilly, tell me, you and Missandei are friends.”

Gilly smiled as Jon dipped Missandei at the end of the song. “She’s never told me, and I haven’t asked. If Jon knows, he keeps it to himself. That’s why they’re perfect for each other.”

Pyp furrowed his brow. “What are you on about? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Aye, it does,” Tormund said. “Drink up Pyp, I’ll explain when you’re older.”

 


End file.
